Civil War -Short Story-
by pinkpoland
Summary: The American Civil War- filled with loss, separation, death, and the mending of broken bonds. UsUk story (romantic or brotherly love; whichever you fancy. you get to choose)
1. A Long Absence

[ Arthur's P.O.V ]

Solitude had been treating me well. Being stripped of prior relations and ties has introduced me into carrying out on my own. My own nation was my main concern; everyone else's problems were secondhand against mine. Benefits of my heightened attention and lack of distractions shone greatly amongst my land and decisions. My boss was quite pleased, which allowed me to take their word with pride.

However, it wasn't long until my jubilant streak was shattered by news that made it across seas.

 _The United States was in the midst of a civil war._

At first, I treated the news with a cold shoulder and didn't even bother pondering about it. That prat declared independence and that's what he got. All further issues were his to burden and not mine. That is what he wanted anyways; to see the world and be his own country.

As days rolled by, news from States continued to flood in. Violent arms from the North and South clashed together, sending countless bodies upon their own soil. Again, I turned away, my pride giving me strength to not care.

Unfortunately, this was Alfred. This meaning I still cared for the lad. Despite still being hateful and betrayed from our revolution, I still had a troublesome bug picking away within me.

That's when I decided to pay a visit— to check up on that twit.

...

The voyage there was rough. It wasn't a surprise to see how little passengers wished to travel to the States. Seeing as how chaos rose at every square foot on its land, it was simply a risk to even go there. But, that didn't faze me. Unlike the mortals around me, death and harm wasn't a concern of mine. It was an empty possibility that held no meaning.

My first steps back on my previous colonies were not as I would have expected them to be. The moment I my foot touched the soil I felt my heart twist in a faint pain. Even now, my body still feels what the land feels. It's worn off since the war, but I still have a few weary connections.

An invisible weight was put on my shoulders as I trudged through the land. Everyone I passed by had their heads down and held those near to them close. Children grew silent as they clung to their mothers dresses, stumbling along. People, both black and white, gave off the aura of despair and yearn for peace.

My God... What had become of this nation?

Alfred lived in an empty suburb north of New York, according to officials I met on the ship. He was transferred there for 'his own good', which only made me more concerned. Being transported away to an isolated area, away from your people, only meant disastrous events were being born.

The directions I was given led me to an old house that appeared to be hanging off its hinges. It's wooden walls had burnt marks smeared across it like an artist's canvas. The front door was ajar, frequently squeaking from the wind that blew by. An eerie aura drifted from the building, causing my breath to cut short briefly.

Carefully, I walked up the front steps, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end from the creaking beneath my feet.

"Alfred?"

I called out into the silent house, straining my ears to hear any response. There was none.

Inside was no better than the exterior. Wallpaper was torn down, it's strips barely touching the scratched floor below. The windows were dusty and smeared with filth, filth of what something I could not deduce. It was incredibly cold, an extreme contrast from what the temperature was outside. Half burnt out candles littered the floor and occasional table that was propped up against the wall, yet no one was around to appreciate its dull light.

The farther I walked in, the more horrors I saw. A bedroom door was closed near the end of a messy hallway. I assumed that was where Alfred retired to.

"Alfred?"

I called out once more, stopping outside of the bedroom door. This time, I did get a response. It wasn't words but more like a soft sound inside. A quick scrape was made along with a quiet thud.

"Alfred? It's Arthur."

I identified myself, which now seemed like a stupid thing to do considering who else would come in with a British accent and refer to him as his human name.

The doorknob wobbled a bit before it was slowly pulled open, giving me the okay to venture further.

Pushing it open, I felt the blood from my face drain at the sight inside.

Alfred was crouched against the corner of the room, hands entangled in his hair. Blood was sprinkled across the wooden floorboards as if acting as a new paint gone wrong. The window above the moth eaten bed was shattered, the wind outside cause the curtains to flutter around. At my appearance, Alfred flinched a bit and quickly turned away from me.

"Alfred..." I felt my voice go gentle, which was a surprise since I was intending to be formal and serious and not show my care. I wanted to have my visit appear business related and not on personal matters. Yet, as always, my voice tended to stray. "Are you okay?"

The American gasped softly as if someone had punched him, despite nothing happening. He lifted his head up and stared directly at me. My heart nearly gave out when I saw the facade that he bore.

Brilliant blue eyes now cracked and shattered like old porcelain. His young demeanor now aged with grief. His lips trembled as they struggled to form words. The expression he gave me was of pure plea. He looked weak... Vulnerable. Not once had I ever witnessed Alfred in such a way. He always was so strong no matter what was going on.

I crouched down beside him, reaching out gingerly to put my hand upon his shoulder. He was so thin; so feeble. Touching him felt like touching a snowflake, any more force could cause him to break. Alfred looked over at me with a fearful look. Did he know this was me?

"Their screams..." Alfred's voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. "Can you hear them, too? They're so loud. S-So loud." A slight smile appeared on his lips before disappearing back into his broken mask.

The boy I fought that night in the rain was no longer here. That was clearly evident at the sight of the person before me. That boy would have just laughed this off or forced a fake smile to hide everything. That boy would be frowning at me and demanding why I was here. That boy would not be shivering in the corner, mumbling about the sounds of the grieving.

"No, I don't hear the screams." I responded softly, being careful with how I moved and spoke towards him. He nodded, eyes flickering from my shoes to my chest.

"I see... You're not from here then. You-You can't hear them." Alfred mumbled absentmindedly, hugging his knees to his chest. Oh, so he didn't realize who I was. Maybe that was a good thing, for now. What a wonder that would be if he recognized me. We haven't spoken in person since that time.

"Why don't you lie down on the bed." I suggested, truly believing he needed to be resting somewhere properly instead of against the wall. I reached over to take his hands gently, ushering for him to stand up.

Surprisingly, Alfred complied with my idea and shakily stood up. His legs wobbled and revealed torn trousers with dried crimson.

Once up on his feet, Alfred gasped sharply. The hands holding my own squeezed tightly. Usually, I would have to bite my tongue to keep myself from wincing since he had such immeasurable strength. But now, his grip hardly struck a nerve.

"A-Attacking.." Alfred whimpered, his whole body shaking as he refused to move any farther.

I tilt my head, rubbing my thumbs against the top of his hands in an attempt to comfort him. "Attacking? Who? What's wrong?"

He didn't respond at first but merely shuddered about something I wasn't aware of.

Suddenly, Alfred let out a scream and immediately dropped to his knees. I dropped before him too, startled about what was happening.

"Wh-Whats wrong?! Alfred, please, answer me. Are you hurt?"

The answer I received was yet another cry of pain as he let go of my hands and now gripped the front of my shirt. I felt myself being pulled towards him as he buried his face into my shoulder. Oh, Alfred...

"Ch-Children... Women.." Alfred sobbed between strained cries. "My p-people... I'm dying... They're killing me."

That's when I noticed something I hadn't noticed before. I felt a warm substance begin to wet my front. Looking down, I saw blood branching out on Alfred's chest, gradually pooling beneath us. He was... hurt. Wounds were being inflicted upon his body as we sat here— self inflicted wounds by his people.

Alfred's breathing was ragged and labored as he clung to me. Small cuts began to paint across his knuckles and cheeks. It was true. His people were literally killing him.

As a nation, you have a connection to your citizens. When a place is bombed or invaded, you feel it. When you lose a portion of your land, you lose strength and energy. When your people are being slaughtered, you are maimed. Especially if it's a war amongst yourself. It's a never ending battle on your body and mind that only causes destruction. Oh, Alfred... I'm so sorry you have to go through this.

"Shh, it's okay." I said hesitantly, gently rubbing his back as he leaned against me. "Take deep breaths, Alfred. It's alright. I promise, you're going to be okay. I'm here, I'm here."

All the grudge I held against Alfred seemed to disappear. I couldn't be petty about the past right now. Clearly, Alfred needed someone desperately with how things were playing out. I knew I was the only one who could stay and care for him properly.

"I-It hurts.. It hurts so m-much.." Alfred sobbed uncontrollably, tears wetting my shoulder. He was truly broken. You often use that word to describe sad, scarred people lightly but Alfred truly embodied the word. Broken.

Suddenly, I felt Alfred jolt against me and let out another scream before his voice cracked. I could feel the pain that coursed through his body and land. It was unbearable just to hold him helplessly. A cracked gasp escaped Alfred before he suddenly went limp. The weight of his body collapsed against me and I found myself holding him in my arms.

"Alfred?" I questioned into the silence that started to settle. Alfred didn't respond.

I shifted my hold on him in a more comfortable position for him and myself. Lying him on my lap, I cradled his head in my arms. His chest rose and fell, ensuring me he simply passed out from the pain.

His eyes were closed but the expression on his face reflected the image of pure discomfort. Oh, Alfred... My dear Alfred. Before, I would smile at the thought of all this; you meeting your fall and me swooping in to proclaim how I was right about you not being ready. But, I can't do that. I simply can't do that. Never would I ever want you to endure all this. If I could absorb this pain, I would. You're still so young and have so much to learn.

Leaning down, I planted a soft kiss upon his forehead, trying to soothe everything that was ailing him. For a second, I contemplated moving him to the bed, but now that I looked at it I noticed how it was no different than the floor. So, I simply kept him in my arms, stroking his mangled hair.

"Rest now. It's alright." I whispered softly, keeping my movements and voice as sweet as possible. "Everything will be alright. I'm here, and I'll be here until you wake and until you are better. Everything will be okay."

Past aside, Alfred was still Alfred. He still was one I cared about very deeply.

Politically, I couldn't do anything to help his nation. It was an internal struggle that my British forces had no involvement in. However, personally, I could help.

So, I vowed to stay with Alfred until all of this resolved.

 _"Even with all that's happened, I'm still here for you."_


	2. Help

[ Alfred's P.O.V ]

I had already accepted my expected eradication. By how my people were so opposed with each other, it was only predicted; foreseen. The thought of it frightened me, but I still accepted it.

However, I just wished they would kill me faster.

Days began to drag on like months. At the start, I was positioned to help lead the North, fighting against those in the South. I was sent out to the battlegrounds, performing a duty one should do for their country.

Unfortunately, that didn't stand well with me.

The end of every battle led to more breakdowns for me. Every person I slaughtered left a mark upon my body. These were my people. My people. It pained me to even harm them in such a way— no matter what side they were on.

My boss transferred me to an isolated cabin in uptown New York. He said, "It's for your own good. Stay back from your people. It will reduce the harm." Easy for him to say. He didn't have every heart of every person in this nation connected to his body. He didn't hear the screams and pleas of the weak, the cries of the brave, the fearful thoughts of the mourning. He didn't feel the heartbreak and suffering my people endured every single second.

Nonetheless, I remained in that cabin. I was afraid of what lied outside. Surely, this was no different from being on the battlegrounds, but the fleeting idea of it being worse than it already was kept me locked up.

I would awake screaming in the night. My body was a voodoo doll. Fresh cuts, incisions, bullet holes, bruises, you name it, appeared on my body every night. My head echoed with cries and yearning words of not just my own but of everyone else. It was unbearable.

They were killing me. My people were killing me whilst killing themselves. If this was death, I prayed it came quickly. This torture... I wanted it to stop. Kill me. End me. Free me of this suffering. I beg of you.

One day, as I cowered in my own misery, I heard someone come into my cabin. No one was allowed to see me unless it was my boss. They warned it would be catastrophic if I were to lay eyes upon another being. Maybe it would be catastrophic. Yet, I opened the door for them in case it was my boss. But, still taking precaution, when whoever entered the room, I turned away.

I couldn't recall who it was at the time. The person was blurry for my vision, which wasn't a surprise for me. Ever since the start of the war my eyesight seemed to deteriorate. I was in the midst of an internal battle. The battles lasted longer now, seemingly to never end. The pain never did end, it only subsided slightly every now and then.

The person spoke in a foreign tone, a voice I couldn't put a face to. They knew my human name which could only mean they knew me personally and not as their nation. It surprised me. No one even batted an eye about my civil war if they weren't a part of it.

I felt bad for my visitor for I ended up sounding out of mind, which wouldn't be wrong. I felt myself black out in their arms, semi embarrassed of myself for doing that.

The last thing I recalled was my visitor holding me. They were warm.

...

I awoke the next morning, or what felt like the next morning. I was still lying in someone's arms but found myself now clinging weakly to their front.

 _"Domestic life was never quite my style. When you smile, you knock me out I fall apart."_

A faint singing was the first thing I heard. Whoever was holding me emitted the faint singing. Their voice was smooth yet had that tenor range and sound to it. A hand stroked my hair, going at the pace of the sweet song. Who was this?

 _"We'll pass it on to you. We'll give the world to you and you'll blow us all away. Someday, someday..."_

My eyes cracked open just to be blinded by the sunlight flooding in from the window. Yes, it was daytime— whichever part of the day was still unclear. I glanced up to the face of whoever was caring for me.

At first, all I saw was blonde hair. It hung down before the eyes of the person staring down at me. I saw their lips move along with the soft words they continued to sing. Blinking away my drowsiness, their appearance gradually grew clearer. Forest green eyes. Abnormal sized eyebrows—

Shit.

"A-Arthur?" I startled myself upon hearing how hoarse and cracked my voice was. It didn't even sound like my own.

Arthur stopped singing, much to my disappointment. It was nice to hear him sing again...

"You're awake." He stated simply. The expression he bore was blank and unreadable. Was he upset? Worried? Happy?

This probably pleased the hell out of him. I was meeting my end, and just after I gained independence. It was what he expected of me. You're so childish, Alfred, he would say. You're not ready to be on your own. You're going to regret this. Just wait until you fall because of your ignorant choices.

I suppose he was right.

I didn't speak for a while, waiting for his relishing words of pride. I waited for his scolding. I waited for his disapproving words and insults. I waited for him to shove my failure in my face. To my surprise, none of that happened.

"How are you feeling?"

What? That's it? Disbelief crossed over my eyes as my mouth struggled to form words. I was in too much of a shock to respond properly.

All this time, I thought he hated me because of my revolutionary war. We hadn't even spoken since our meeting in Paris that established my freedom. Countless times he left my letters unanswered. I had given up on ever reaching him again, believing our relationship both as nations and as people were vanquished forever.

Yet, here he was... Holding me in my weakest state whilst singing a comforting melody I often heard him sing in the past. His touch was gentle and his words were sincere— nothing spiteful nor hateful about it.

"Aren't you going to laugh?" The question that had been ailing me the moment I awoke slipped from my lips before I could take it back. Arthur's eyes widened a bit, yet I could tell he was wondering the same thing.

"Why would I laugh?" He responded, our conversation seeming to be simple questions answered by more.

I didn't have any energy to keep this game up for as we spoke I felt my strength begin to diminish again.

"You were right..." I mumbled, not even caring about my own pride as I gave in. "I wasn't ready. Y-You were right. I'm not fit to be-be my own country. I'm childish, ignorant, and oblivious to everything around me. You were right; you were always right."

My voice shook as I spoke, my eyes stinging with tears that began to slip down the sides of my face. I bet he was reveling in this— taking in all I was saying with a smug grin and strengthened pride. I knew I was wallowing in self depreciation and shame, that was a fact.

Surprisingly, Arthur shook his head. What was that in his eyes? It wasn't pride, but pity.

"Alfred, stop." He spoke quietly, brushing away some of tears from my eyes. "That's not true. You are ready to be your own nation. I saw it back then, but I was too selfish and stubborn to ever admit it."

I couldn't believe it. This was all a lie. A goddamn lie. My brows furrowed together n frustration and despair as my chest began to heave with broken breathing. Lies. Lies. Lies. All fucking lies.

"You _are_ right! You're right, Arthur! That's what you've always wanted to hear, isn't t?! You were right and I was wrong! Look at me! I-I'm in pain! I'm hurting! I'm-I'm _dying_! My people are slowly driving me mad while my physical body continuously breaks every passing second! I can't do this... I-I can't do this.. I'm not strong enough. I'm n-not ready!"

I didn't even realize I had begun to sob and yell as I spoke. It was just bottled up emotions I had no one to pour out to. Everything that had been breaking me inside that no one was there to listen to. Being locked away in isolation with no social contact for months really took a toll. My words soon transitioned into strained cries as I clung to Arthur's front once more, feeling my face drench in tears.

Arthur seemed to shake a bit, which I presumed was because of my sudden outburst. He held me up closer to him as if to pull me in a warm embrace.

"Y-You can do this, Alfred. You are strong enough to pull through all this." His voice trembled slightly, signifying that he, too, was crying. "I was wrong. Please, don't take what I said in a truthful light. I never meant it. You can do this, I promise you Alfred. Every new nation suffers a fall like this, you just happen to be in the midst of a very horrible one. But, you will push through and resolve all this for the better. I know you will."

I shook my head, the pain within my head only growing. It felt as if there was a fire within me. Flames continuously licked my bones, sending waves of pain in countless places I couldn't point out. Every time I cried, the flame grew. Every time someone died, the flame grew. Every time someone suffered, the flame grew. That's all it did— it grew. It was only a matter of time before it sent me to ashes.

My breathing began to grow labored again as I struggled to intake air through my wails. Arthur merely held onto me and rubbed my back and stroked my hair as I continued to spew out words like "I can't do this" and "Make it stop".

In the past, I would feel embarrassed and ashamed of myself for acting so weak and pitiful. This is not the sight of someone heroic and strong. A hero wouldn't cower, even in defeat. But... I just couldn't hold up that title anymore. My bones were breaking, my life was slowly but surely flowing from the constant wounds inflicted upon me.

Throughout all this, Arthur continued to hold me and rock me gently in his arms. He told me I was going to be okay. He told me he was going to be here for me. He told me he was going to help me personally and make sure I came out of this alright. He told me I would get through this perfectly fine and become the strong nation I intended to be.

Throughout all that, I simply cried and cried in his arms. There was a point where no tears came out so it was simply me whimpering with red cheeks and a shaking body.

I decided to try and focus on him rather than the horrors and chaos that happened within and around me. Focus on his gentle voice that stifled the cries of my people. Focus on the smell of assorted tea leaves and old paper to soothe my worries. Focus on the words he was putting into my ears and try and believe all he was saying. Focus on the feel of him rocking me and keeping me close to his chest as a sense of security. Focus on the strong beat of his heart and try not to focus on the faltering sound of mine. Focus on him. Focus.

 _"I swear that I'll be around for you. I'll do whatever it takes, I'll make a million mistakes. I'll make the world safe and sound for you."_

Arthur began to sing lightly again, his fingers running through my hair. I stared up at him weakly, my hand still grasping on to his clothing as if fearing of letting go.

For a split second, I felt as if everything was okay. I felt as if there were no pain and suffering in my land. I felt as if there was nothing to worry about. I felt as if every problem and issue I had piling upon my shoulders disappeared for that one split second.

 _"We'll pass it on to you, we'll give the world to you... And you'll blow us all away. Some day, someday."_

Arthur didn't hate me. I knew that now. Our relations as nations may have broken but I knew he was still there for me. That was obvious. Thinking forward, I knew if this all passed and I truly did become well again, Arthur wouldn't want to speak of him being soft like this again. But, I didn't mind that. I'd rather focus on the 'now' rather than the 'future' and 'what if's.

 _"Yeah you'll blow us all away. Someday... Someday."_

I heard Arthur conclude in his song, smiling down at me. His smile, which he so rarely wore, caused my own lips to curl into a smile.

"Thank you... For everything." I whispered, feeling my body weaken significantly again. I suppose Arthur noticed this and nodded, keeping his smile on.

"No need to thank me." He responded humbly. He leaned down and pressed his forehead against my own, closing his eyes. I did so as well, leaning against him a bit more. "Just rest now, Alfred. I promise, you will be alright. I will stay here until this all resolves for the better and work your health back up. Put your trust in me for the time being. I will take care of you."

It seemed like it's been a life time since I genuinely appreciated his care. If it were back in the 1770s, I would have pushed him away and grew annoyed. But now... Now I desired it and felt incredibly grateful to have it.

 _"Even with all that's happened, you're still here for me."_

 _—_

 _Song: "Dear Theodosia" from Hamilton: an American musical_


	3. History

A fallen body was the heaviest weight to be dropped down upon you. A mixture of its dead weight to the tiresome grief was unbearable. All for one, single body. As weeks and months went by, that body count only grew, leaving Alfred crushed underneath all of its weight.

Arthur kept his word and remained by the suffering nation's side throughout it all.

Poor boy, Arthur always thought. Every night resulted in screaming and tears— some harsher than the others. New wounds were inflicted and more blood was spilled. Often times Alfred would plead for Arthur to kill him. At the worse battles, Arthur would find himself staring down at the American who clung to his hand and begged him to put him out of his misery.

It was such a pitiful state. Not once had Alfred ever felt so helpless and weak.

"Please, please, please..." The normal begging was made. "Kill me; I can't live like this. I can't live like this. Oh God, they're torturing me... Why won't I die already?!"

"Take deep breaths; you aren't supposed to die. Not now, not like this." The normal, gentle response. "You will get through this, Alfred. I promise you. Please, hang in there... You will live."

The number of nights Arthur was left cradling the distraught American in his arms were unknown. It happened every night, Alfred never finding a break from his deafening nightmares. Arthur would awake seconds after to find the other pulling at his hair. From there, he would scoop Alfred in his arms and merely rocked him back and forth in his lap to soothe him, despite how much larger the other was compared to him. There was nothing more he could do. The pain Alfred felt was caused by his own people. The wounds appeared upon his pale skin without warning and ways of stopping it. Everything had to be dealt with.

It seemed like ages before the end finally drew near. The South surrendered after countless casualties were made and the war finally ended. However, the end of the war did not mean the ceasing of Alfred's torment.

Wounds weren't inflicted anymore, but the American still was incredibly weak. He regained the ability to roam all around the small, wooden house again. However, he often stayed in a room for a long while instead of making the effort to move.

Arthur had to go out to buy food and essentials to care for Alfred still. Despite the other no longer being in heart wrenching pain, he was still too vulnerable to travel outside. Every step he took was as cautious as a tight rope walker. Every thought risked him going into a mental breakdown. Every slight, sudden sound caused him to jump out of his skin.

Nonetheless, Arthur was patient and kept his word.

"Are you sure you don't want to go outside yet? It's not too hot and there's just enough clouds in the sky to compliment the sun."

"No... thank you."

The usual response given no matter how much Arthur encouraged the American to step out more. His boss already contacted the Brit, saying that Alfred needed to ease into coming back out and regaining himself. Arthur thought Alfred was lucky to have bosses who understood and were mindful of him. Although, maybe his bosses weren't understanding and mindful. Maybe they just felt guilty that they put their own nation through all this.

Arthur's own boss frequently wrote to him, demanding where he was. Using as much formality and hard hitting reasons, the Brit explained how he was aiding Alfred due to his civil war. Unlike Alfred's boss, his boss didn't seem all that fond or patient. He ordered for Arthur to return immediately to _his_ own country to control _his_ nation and not his former colony's.

Nonetheless, Arthur stuck to his word. Even with those threatening letters, he still remained by Alfred.

It took about a year until Alfred was finally himself again.

The American strolled his streets with his usual benevolent smile. He bought goods and aided family businesses, played with the children who scurried at his feet, and befriended anyone and everyone who seemed to cross his path. It was as if the war never even happened— and yet, it did.

The tension between Alfred and Arthur from the American Revolution disappeared. It died along with death of the days prior, no longer holding meaning in the present. It was done and it was over. Arthur genuinely forgave Alfred, and Alfred forgave Arthur.

No more grudges.  
No more hard feelings.  
No more.

 **2016**

"How dare you speak such things against my physical appearance!"

"You started it!"

"What a childish thing to say. You're a grown man, Alfred. Why don't you act like one?"

A loud thud interrupted the two's regular argument. Ludwig furrowed his brows in annoyance as he shot a glare towards the Brit and American.

"Will you two shut up? We have more pressing matters to discuss than how _childish_ we are." The German stated through gritted teeth.

Alfred and Arthur nodded slowly, truly intimidated whenever Ludwig grew annoyed. They both sat down in their seats, fiddling with their fingers irritably.

"I hate you, asshat." Arthur hissed over at Alfred when the meeting recommenced.

"I hate you, loser." Alfred whispered back, glancing over at Arthur.

They both narrowed their eyes at one another before a soft smile crept upon their lips. With a quiet chuckle, they both turned their attention back to the current speaker.

 _"Even with all that's happened, you're still here with me."_

 **The End.**

 **I hope you enjoyed this :)**


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